Starvation
by Her Valentine
Summary: Not only did he want him, he craved him. And despite his refusal to acknowledge him, he needed him. Warning: Yaoi. Soriku.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Starvation

**Author**: Her Valentine

**Summary**: Not only did he want him, he craved him. And despite his refusal to acknowledge him, he needed him. Warning: Yaoi. Soriku.

**Chapter: Starved; **

**Part I of VII**

Chapped lips stroked the curve of his neck, a coarse press grating plush flesh.

Green eyes beheld a sinful contraction veiled by dark skin as the very testament of man's acquiescence to his own damnation bobbed with an impudent swallow.

Blue eyes narrowed, brows furrowing, "Not now." A flicker, a candle, a votive emitted a fervent glow. Light issued forth only to be reflected off the glassy surface of listless iris.

Glistening.

Consent withheld.

Impermissible to delve even the slightest bit further.

Moist appendage drove forward, seeking to quench dry flesh.

_He understood the incandescent plight all too well_.

An awkward tensing, an ear shattering silence. A non-intrusive inquiry only met by resistance.

Outreached hands, contradicting the universal understanding of outreaching equating to accepting, mindless in their need to reinstate independence, loneliness, a long withstanding norm, mirrored by arms seeking to embrace, to hold, to posses.

Dark hands intercepted pale ones and the friction was found to be unbearable for both parties.

With a rather unbecoming aversion of the head and flippantly spoken words

"Piss off."

... he's repelled.

Stubbornly, though, the other persisted despite the perfectly clear and coherent protest.

Thin, pale lips brushed against his and he lost myself.

Once and for all, despite all the carefully planned and well executed obstacles he set forth to challenge, the other rose to the occasion and overwhelmed him.

Lips parted, tongues boldly set forth to exchange secrets of the depths with-held.

He'd thought he'd known him entirely.

If one were to draw forth from the cliché, it could be said: "All that there is to know, I know."

Though he didn't know, which came as a great surprise, he learned, to his even greater astonishment.

He tasted of the cigarette he'd hastily extinguished with the worn sole of his sneakers after his mother stormed in when he'd thought it was safe.

_When he believed them to be alone_.

He tasted of peppermint and apples.

Of salt and spice.

Of arrogance and cowardice.

Of affection and lust.

It was then that he knew.

It was then, that very moment.

. . . and from there he found Riku to be unavoidable.

Whispered pleasantries and oaths spilled forth from equally chapped lips as his arms writhed and coiled of their own accord, snaking around hips to hook around a slim frame.

To hook and to drag in, to clutch with such force and possession as to leave no room to ever assume he'd let go.

No room to lead on, because he had no intention of that. _No intention of letting go_.

Forcing a parting of tongues, a moan of disappointment followed; wrenched from between the older boy's gaping lips, "Sora. . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: Starvation

**Author**: Her Valentine

**Summary**: Not only did he want him, he craved him. And despite his refusal to acknowledge him, he needed him. Warning: Yaoi. Soriku.

**A/N**: Thank you for the kind words, I appreciate it.

**Part II**

With a lazy creak, the door met its frame as the light from the hallway was blocked out of the room.

Wrapping his arms around himself he sighed, eyes clenched tight as he slumped against the wall.

Slowly sliding down the wall, his breath quickened, chest working at an irregular pace as shoulders trembled and leanly muscled arms tightened their grip.

He'd broken down, slowly deteriorating into nothingness with only his own being as a means of support.

The shout of "Dinner." could be heard through the thin walls separating one room from the other, but he chose not to hear.

Chose to close his ears to all and to everything.

After several moments of ladened silence and thickening darkness, the boy was suddenly jolted out of his misery, freezing as a gentle 'tat' drummed a rhythm against his door.

The sudden and entirely unexpected 'tat' being the product of a concerned, controlled rapping of fingers against wood covered in white paint reached his ears.

"Sweetie, are you ok?"

A dull thud was the only form of response to be given as a head fell back to meet the wall.

"Riku? Did you not hear me call?"

"'M not hungry."

"Still, even if you don't feel like it, you should eat _something_." The voice coddled through the door that acted as a barrier.

Nostrils flared as the disheartened boy exhaled heavily, long fingered hand rising to staunch the trickling flow of moisture and wipe away all evidence of such. With heavy-hearted acquiescence, weary limbs reluctantly pulled themselves up as the boy found his feet again, hand following the texture of the wall, questing for the light switch.

Green eyes blinked rapidly, squinting in pain as they were agitated by the sudden flooding of light within the room.

Impatiently, the woman at the other end of the door turned the door's handle, jerking it open to allow her self in and across the threshold.

"Riku..." She began just before halting, eyes rapidly moving as she paused to take in her son's distressed state, "Oh, dear…are you alright?" Cold hands reached out to cup a heated face, moving gently over the red tinted cheeks and forehead. "You're warm." She stated, the mild burning beneath the pads of her fingers and palms of her hands confirming her observation, "Are you feeling alright?"

Riku blearily shook his head in negation, perturbing long, untamed bangs as they to settled in disarray around his face, veiling it as green eyes fell shut. He leaned in to the compassionate touch of his mother, almost relieved at the contact. At the pure, unconditional affection found from it.

"Take a warm bath," She commanded, "then lay down. I'll wake you up after a few hours to check your temperature and to force feed you, if I must." She lovingly patted her son's cheek before placing a maternal peck upon it, "Sleep well, Riku."

After a decision made in only a couple of seconds, he chose to skip the recommended bathing. Choosing to instead fall back into the welcomed haven that was his single-sized bed, to curl up onto his side, to pull the sheets and hand made quilt up and over his head ... to allow himself to fall into a state where nothing existed and nothing mattered as he was lulled into a sense of peace.

A peace in which all he knew was the back of his own eyelids and the numbness that settled over his body alongside rapid REM.

* * *

The unpleasantness of the sun piercing through his blinds, of birds croaking just outside of his window, and the damned-be blaring of his alarm was what Sora woke up to. 

At precisely six thirty a.m. he rolled out of bed, murmuring something about men and mice and kings, who continued to dance and frolic in a frivolous affair within his mind, having crossed the bridge constructed over his night time reveries, leading to his current state of awareness.

By six thirty-five he was rummaging through his closet, trying to find something that wasn't two years too old, two sizes too small, or something he'd worn less than two weeks ago, finally deciding on a stripped collared shirt and baggy shorts.

Having donned his selection of clothing for the day, he continued through his morning rituals with a leaden heart and weary head.

When the minute hand of the black, leather banded wrist watch strapped around Sora's left wrist halted momentarily at the black, bolded '10', the dark haired boy sat down at the high-legged kitchen table that took up the near entirety of the quaint, detached dining room.

"G'morning." Sora managed in a groggy, rubber-tongued slur as he absent mindedly poured milk into his red bowl, followed by general brand corn flakes.

"Morning." His uncle murmured in acknowledgement, fingers digging into and worrying a crack on the black lacquered face of the table's top.

Sora eyed the plain and simple meal set forth in front of him, the very same meal he consumed every morning as a means of breaking his fast.

The spoon in hand was spun in half circles, alternating between clockwise and counter as he sat still and contemplated.

With a troubled mind, he dipped the spoon's head into the heterogeneous mixture of milk and cereal contained within his bowl, catching some to be shoveled up to his seeking, gaping mouth.

At first, he hadn't thought he was hungry. Now, he felt beyond famished.

He continued the shoveling motions rapidly, in a desperate, raving fashion.

The older man ceased his investigation of the grooves forced onto his table as he stared, open mouthed, and observed at his nephews actions.

Once the entirety of the cereal was consumed, Sora only stared wistfully at the bowl, eyes searching, seeking.

Looking for more.

For something.

For sustenance.

For substance.

"Kid. . .you hungry?" The man inquired of his nephew, bordering amusement in his astonishment.

Sora nodded, wordless.

As his uncle stood up, muttering something about the possibility of some bacon being in the fridge, the boy's posture sagged, slouching heavily as he slumped far within his chair, head coming to rest on top of the table.

Breathing rate increased to a gaping, stagnated rate as a trail of moisture made its trek down tanned features.


End file.
